


Porcelain Rose

by RecklessWriter



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Vampire!Royce, mature themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecklessWriter/pseuds/RecklessWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Goodbye, Rosie," he said. "I'll be seeing you." </i>
</p><p>
  <i>There was a click as the line went dead, and the phone slipped from Rosalie's hand and clattered to the ground with a crash. Her knees buckled as she soon followed, unable to feel anything but the weight of her world collapsing.</i>
</p><p>Impossibly, a part of Rosalie's past that she thought long gone catches up to her. Will Emmett be able to save her from the monster before she finally breaks?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Hell's Fire

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This chapter has very-strongly implied rape, and deals partially with the aftermath of a rape. But it does not include the event itself.

**Porcelain Rose** _by RecklessWriter_

*

**Prologue – Hell’s Fire**

_April 1933, Rochester, New York:_

Shock is defined as the sudden or violent disturbance of the mind, emotions, or sensibilities.

In medicine it is a critical condition brought on by a sudden drop in blood flow through the body.

Rosalie Lillian Hale was experiencing shock in every sense of the word.

Complete shock.

Even more than the pain that throbbed all over her.

She was lying on her stomach, her limbs in an awkward position. The street felt horrible to her prone body, but anything would be more comfortable after what she'd endured not even an hour before.

She knew she was bleeding—bleeding in places a woman shouldn't be bleeding.

Her cheek lay pressed against the abrasive mortar and large, smooth pebbles that formed the street's surface. She stared at the cobblestone just inches from her nose. The lines that formed where each stone began and ended started to blur within her vision.

Her tears were just beginning to dry, her sobs getting smaller and more silent as time went on. Her sniveling had quieted down. She wasn't wailing like she had been moments ago, crying from the simple shock of what had transpired. Reality came crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

The voice of the devil still rang in her ears loud and clear, “ _What did I tell you, John. Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?”_ The irony was eerie, the voice she'd fawned over for the past few months had been the same voice to bring atrocities upon her she couldn't have imagined before tonight. It was the same voice she’d been preparing for the same amount of months to worship for the rest of her life.

The voice of Satan.

Her body shivered at the recollection, appraised by his friends like she was a horse to purchase. A friend of a friend who she'd never met before had just come in from Atlanta. “ _It's hard to tell_ ,” his sick friend, John, answered in a thick southern draw. “ _She's all covered up.”_

_“Show him what you look like, Rose!”_ Her memory could hear him slur, his breath lousy with cheap whiskey.

She could still hear her buttons fly loose as he had torn her jacket off. She could still feel the bobby pins that held her hat in place pull hair and skin from her scalp as he had ripped her hat off of her head. She could still feel his breath on her face, still hear her clothing rip.

_I hate you_ , she tried to growl out loud in the present time, into the empty darkness of the street, but the sound was gone from her voice. A raspy breath was the only sound that she could make.

They'd enjoyed her screaming voice that night, with every cry for pain that they caused her. All her cries and screams had wasted her vocal abilities that night.

_Everything_ had gone to waste that evening.

It was insane to want to die, but Rosalie had no choice. There was no way she wanted to live after the disgrace he and his friends had done. She couldn't marry him after this, and she doubted anyone would believe her if she tried to tell them what happened.

She barely registered the hazy white falling down around her, like cotton. She thought she was hallucinating until she felt them fall on her hand and melt away quickly. It was fluffy little snowflakes, so quiet in their fall, swaying in the strange winter breeze as they descended to the ground… and on her.

She called it strange because of the time of year. She was sure when she had set the wedding date for late April that there wouldn't be a chance of snowfall. Boy, was she wrong. The large flowery wedding of her childhood dreams had been so close, just within reach of her fingertips. But then, the wedding was the least of her worries now.

Or at least it should be.

She winced as she made a small adjustment to her position.

And it wasn't even the physical pain that was tearing her up inside, though that pain was overwhelming her to the point that she could barely hang onto consciousness.

There was more pain to be dealt with inside of her. Her heart was more than broken. It was shattered, its pieces scattered along that very street, like broken glass. They were mixed on the cobblestone with the broken pieces of her virginity that _he_ and his hooligan friends had destroyed and annihilated in one night.

Defiled parts of her body clenched in pain at the thought alone.

She swallowed the moisture in her mouth, a mixture of blood in her saliva, with a bad aftertaste of booze and other foreign… fluids.

She fought the urge to vomit.

Her memory took her to a gorgeous ballroom with everyone dressed in floor length gowns and tuxedos. She saw a crowd of people before her. A waiter offered them sparkly drinks in elegant flutes.

"No, thank you," _he,_ her personal Satan in a designer suit _,_ had declined politely at the swanky town dance party last month. He turned to her with a wink. "I don't care much for champagne."

Rosalie had smiled back, squeezing her fingers around _his_ hand. She had jumped to her own conclusions that night, proud that _he_ didn't drink. So stupid. So foolish.

How was she to know that _he_ preferred something much stronger?

She had been the biggest dupe on the planet, completely seduced by the riches of his family and his undeniable good looks, and the charming façade he'd only displayed until this night.

The man she thought loved her. The man she'd meant to father her future beautiful babies.

She hadn't known him at all.

She managed to move her hand to her face, and she knew as she felt her nose, swollen and deformed, that it was broken. That bastard named John had punched her in the face to keep her from resisting. Her left eye was also swollen shut. She thought that was Royce that had gifted her with that mar to her beauty.

She cringed, not only at the sensitive flesh of her face, but the silent utter of _his_ name.

The wounds were tender, the slightest pressure to the swollen tissue caused sharp sensations. The pain brought about whimpers that broke through her lips on a gasp.

Tears brimmed and swelled in her eyes before they poured relentlessly down her cheeks and onto her cracked lips. They were brought on by the thought of her former lovely face, now mangled and deformed. A less than perfect nose was unacceptable to her.

One thought comforted her.

_At least I'll be dead._

And she knew that the end was near, because she literally felt life draining out of her. Her failing body trembled in a pool of her own blood.

_God, it was cold._

The ache and discomfort continued to throb and pierce through her. She tried her best to run thoughts through her mind in an effort to concentrate on something else. One thought came instantly.

_Let them find me._

She hoped there was some kind of clue that Royce had done this. Hopefully he'd left a scarf or hat behind, or his stupid stopwatch. Something to lead them into knowing he did this.

As humiliating as the fact was, it was still a fact.

Royce had raped her.

He had killed her.

He had taken away her perfect life from her.

He needed to pay.

Never mind that she would never wake when she closed her eyes. Excluding that night, she was close to getting everything that she wanted in this life. After that night, she no longer cared to live. As long as there was justice in the name of her death, she would be happy.

After a time, long or short, she wasn't sure, she closed her eyes. Her lids were pitch-black from the inside. There was more pain than she thought she could bear, but she didn't fight it. She drifted and waited for the end to come to her, her thoughts dipping in and out of memories without a consistent pattern. In the moments that she was lucid, she tried to hum a lullaby in her head. It was the same lullaby she would use to hum Ronnie to sleep.

The memories came and went. She'd put her youngest brother to sleep often. She'd watch after both of her younger brothers, especially when her mother was so busy keeping house. That was her duty, keeping the house—and them—spotless.

Rosalie recalled her mother brushing her hair as she stood behind her at her vanity, insisting that she'd have to employ one hundred brush strokes every night to her long, golden tresses. She knew what she was talking about. Rosalie had inherited her lush, blonde hair, and she'd always kept it lovely.

It went well with every gorgeous dress her father would come home with about every other week. The last that he had given her was a lovely powder blue satin and organza piece that he thought would be good for her bridal shower.

She choked on a sob then.

There would be no more bridal shower now.

It was dark and silent for a timeless space. The throbbing pain was still there, and she was eager for it to lessen. The end couldn't come soon enough. She was losing so much blood that the snow now falling on her was no longer melting away from her skin. Her temperature was dropping, able to sustain the frozen fluffy ice that began to accumulate on her in layers.

She braced herself, ready to shut her eyes to the world forever.

She hadn't lived the full life she wanted, but now, the one man who she thought she loved had single-handedly destroyed her—her perfect future, her perfect body, her perfect life.

She was no longer willing to live.

She welcomed death.

She felt a sudden presence that barely roused her. Something shook her, and pulled her. She heard metal clacking onto the cobblestone street, a person shifting on his or her feet.

"Oh, my," she heard a male voice say. It was smooth, like velvet. It sounded better than anyone's voice she'd ever heard. She heard him exhale, in sheer pity. "Rosalie Hale." He recognized her!

She was flipped onto her back carefully. She felt herself blush with what blood her body had left, knowing that she was exposed indecently, certain parts of her body bare for a purpose. She felt stark naked, completely stripped of her virtue, her dignity. She was tarnished, violated and impure, and this person was about to see it all first hand.

She felt exposed to the man hovering above her.

But her thoughts took another turn. Maybe this was good. Maybe this was enough evidence to convict Royce of his crime.

Did he know? Did he see Royce and his hooligan friends? _Please, God, make sure he_ _saw who did this to me._

She was able to open her eye, the one that wasn't swollen shut. Her vision was blurred, mostly by the snow that had settled on her lashes. Behind them, she slowly focused on the fair-haired man in a white coat.

Even in her dying stupor, Rosalie recognized Doctor Cullen, the beautiful man with a beautiful wife and beautiful brother in law, Edward Platt, who attended her school.

"Such a shame," he whispered quietly to himself. "Such a waste."

With her last dying words she wanted to name the person that had done this to her. She wanted justice for her life, for her family. She desperately wanted to tell him with her final breath that Royce was her assailant. She needed him to notify her family, and tell her father at once. She made an effort to speak, but all that came out was a strangled moan.

"There, there," he soothed. Suddenly she felt him checking over her vital signs, when she realized he was helping to save her life.

She struggled to speak again. She wanted to tell him about Royce, and then tell him it was too late. She wanted to die. She wanted him to let her die.

His strange golden eyes looked at her with such pity.

She felt a wave of shame. That wasn't the way she wanted people to look at her.

He looked into her eyes with warmth and kindness. "We'll get you better."

_No!_

Rosalie began to shake, frantically. She wanted to reach out and stop his hands from working on her.

_Leave me,_ she wanted to say. Irritation was tingling in her limbs as she felt him check her with his frigid hands. It didn't startle her that his hands were so cold. She figured it was from the unusual snowfall and freezing temperatures.

_Please stop,_ she urged him in her mind, but her voice and lips were not in her control anymore. _Let me die!_

He wasn't listening. He continued to work, fiddling with his medical gadgets and his hands began to pump her chest to give her more air. He kept at work to keep her alive, not comprehending her weak attempt to stop him.

_No!_

This was horrible. Almost second to the rape she was subjected to hours ago.

_You idiot. I want to die! Stop this right now!_

She began to weep again.

She wanted to scream at him, and tell him to leave her be. But she couldn't, and he continued to misinterpret every sound she made as a cry for help.

_Stop! Let me die, God damn it!_

After a short while, it seemed that she was winning. She was dying, and he knew it. She could see it in the helplessness of his kind face. He knew it was hopeless.

Ironically, she was more hopeful. _I get to die_ , she thought.

But suddenly, he gathered his things. Something about it was strange, like a light bulb had turned on in his head.

He'd lifted her effortlessly from the ground, and just like that, they glided forward at an alarming speed.

Even as she drifted to and fro, her mind continued to run, having illusions of heaven. It was because of the doctor's pace. It felt like they were flying. She was waiting for wings to sprout from his back, because the flight was just unimaginably smooth.

She was sure they were flying. She wondered if the doctor was actually an angel from heaven for a moment. It would explain why he was even more beautiful than she was.

It wasn't long before she found herself in a warm room, the light bright and shining in her eyes. She was slipping away, and the sharp pain of her injuries was finally beginning to dull. She couldn't help but be grateful.

Rosalie felt herself being placed on a soft surface. Was that a bed? She wasn't sure.

"Be reborn, my child," he whispered.

In the next moment, she felt sharp edge pierce into her neck, and shock overtook her. She screamed as the sharpness continued, cutting away at her wrists, her ankles… every joint in her body.

Had he taken her here to hurt her more?

But that wasn't the worst of it. She wished she was warned that the worst was yet to come. Suddenly, she was burning as if being burned at the stake. What had he done to her?

It was hard to concentrate as the fire raged through her. Nothing else mattered except that she was being burned alive.

She felt a hand take hers, and she knew it was the doctor's. Rosalie took it because she had no choice. She was in flames, and any comfort was welcome. Every time she screamed, she would hear his velvet voice apologize, and promise that the burning would end. She screamed at the top of her lungs, but it didn't help. It didn't stop the fire from continuing to incinerate her body. She could feel it to her bones.

She screamed for them to kill her. She was able to open her eyes when Mrs. Cullen came home, to beg for them to end her life. But the woman wouldn't do such a thing, holding Rosalie’s other hand in hers, occasionally sitting to stroke her hand through her hair.

Was anyone else burning but her?

Dr. Cullen stayed by her side, sitting with her, her hand gripping his. He told her everything at once. Vampire. A new life. Bloodlust. Immortality.

_No!_

Sometimes she listened. Sometimes she didn't; the flames were too strong for her to comprehend anything. The inferno consumed her, holding her against the bed. The flames held her against her will.

She writhed and moaned, her teeth clenched so hard it was painful.

Throughout the burn, she held onto her memories of the last night of her life—her visit to Vera's house, her unfortunate run-in with Royce and company that ended her completely.

That was, unless Dr. Cullen spoke of what was happening to her. Whatever nonsense he uttered about being a vampire, she didn't believe him.

When Mrs. Cullen's brother came home, she pleaded for him to kill her as well. He paid her request no mind.

His reaction was different from Mrs. Cullen's. He was extremely upset with Carlisle for taking her. She hadn't been under for long, but she heard every word of his tense conversation with his brother-in-law. He wasn't pleased that Dr. Cullen had chosen to change her. He wasn't pleased with _her_. Even burning, she was irritated with him, mortified at how disgusted he sounded when he uttered her name.

One thing was certain: he would not be her favorite in this family.

There was only one thing that pleased her from that discussion.

"Don't you think she's just a little recognizable, though?" the doctor's brother-in-law asked him. Rosalie didn't know Edward Platt too well from school, and she had a feeling she didn't want to. "The Kings will have put up a large search—not that anyone suspects the fiend."

It was strange to feel pleasure and satisfaction that they knew Royce was guilty, even when the flames continued to spread through her.

"What are we going to do with her?" Mrs. Cullen's irritated brother asked. His question reeked of disgust, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth for him.

She heard Dr. Cullen sigh. "That's up to her, of course. She may want to go her own way."

Rosalie cringed at the doctor's statement through her writhing in sweltering agony.

She'd heard enough about the vampire story for her to believe—for her to know she didn't want to do this alone. She just couldn't. It wasn't a life she wanted, but her life had ended once Royce and company did what they did, and there was no going back for her. Like hell if she'd experience this second life by herself.

She might as well been dead because it felt like cremation. She burned for what felt like an immeasurable amount of time.

And then the pain finally ended. Had she really been burning for just three days? It had felt like weeks on end sometimes, embers eating away at her tissue. Flinching; suffering. She was in shock that it was finally over.

As she stood for the first time, on her perfect feet, in the most graceful stance she'd ever stood, they explained everything to her again. Vampire. Immortality. Frozen for eternity.

As they explained, she realized what this would mean for her future—her physical body, unchanging for the rest of her existence. No children. No death. "No," she breathed in a sob.

Her heart, the one she knew was now frozen and dead, pulverized within her. Millions of pieces of broken glass, but now finer than sand.

She wanted to scream, but looking at the Cullens held her in reserve from doing so. The kindness in the doctor's eyes, in his wife's smile, kept her from acting out against them. Even with Edward in the opposite corner, with a scowl on his face, observing quietly from where he stood, she couldn't be angry with all of them. She couldn't fault them for imprisoning her into this life. How could they have known what she wanted?

Rosalie didn't deny it anymore. She couldn't.

She believed.

She felt her skin, hard as marble, cold as winter. She took her first breath, with a painful burn, much like what she'd experienced during the transformation, but not to its full extent. It was the thirst, it scorched in her throat, and they told her that she needed to hunt immediately.

That was it. It was done.

She was a vampire.

But there was one more thing she needed to do before she went on her first hunt with Dr. Cullen and his family.

She caught a light bouncing off a shiny object in a room across the hall. Her new supernatural vision knew what it was. Slowly, she floated to the mirror that hung on the opposing wall.

Rosalie froze as she studied the stunning woman staring back at her with the most frightening eyes of fiery hell.

She gasped at their startling color. Her eyes! The word _frightening_ was an understatement. They'd send anyone away screaming.

There was no doubt anymore of what she was in her mind.

She was a monster.

She stood for several moments in shock. She could feel three very curious sets of eyes watching her as she observed herself.

Rosalie forced herself to accept it— to accept what she was. She vowed at that moment that the distaste for her new nature would not prevent her from being the best at it.

Once she got past the scary eyes, she was able to scrutinize the face, and suddenly a wave of reprieve crashed through her, gathering the pieces of her pulverized heart.

The woman's face with the scary eyes stared back at her.

Rosalie gasped once again.

_Absolutely breathtaking._

A strange sense of satisfaction washed over her as her eyes drank in her loveliness. She traced the features of her face with her fingertips in amazement. She turned her head side to side. Her bone structure was enhanced, much like a goddess. Her lips pouted even prettier. There was no sign of her broken nose, or any scar or wounds on her. In fact, her nose was flawless. Both eyes, though frightening in color, matched each other perfectly, beneath a thick shelter of the longest, fullest, darkest lashes she'd ever laid eyes on.

She was still gorgeous. _Undeniably flawless._

In fact, the transformation only improved her already striking human features.

She was the most beautiful thing she'd _ever_ seen.

Rosalie realized then that she wouldn't have any issues attaining whatever she would want to have that was possible in this new life. She could feel the strength of her body, combined with her looks. She knew many things would be easy.

And her first task in this new body was completely obvious to her.

She would be unstoppable when she went to avenge her death. She couldn't resent the kind and gentle Dr. Cullen for this situation, but she sure as hell could blame someone for taking everything she wanted away from her. Her mind fixed on a certain young gentleman caller and his quartet of merry queers.

Rosalie’s perfect lips curled into a wicked grin as she contemplated her plan of attack. Her quest for vengeance.

Her plan for justice. Retribution.

She would come after them one by one, and then come after Royce last so he would know that she was coming. She knew exactly what she'd wear for the occasion as well.

There was nothing that could stop her from getting what she wanted with the way she looked and what she could do in this body.

Royce had done this to her.

Royce would have to pay.

*****

_2 years later – 1935:_

All he felt was terror. Pure and simple terror flooded his veins and made his lungs feel like they wanted to explode. He knew she was coming for him. He could sense her presence nearby, as if she would jump in front of him at any moment. He could even feel the cold breath of death whispering in his ear, following him, sending small shivers down his spine in the small room he was hiding.

Royce had almost forgotten everything that had happened some time ago with his ex-fiancé when a few nights ago Matthew’s mother came screaming his name incessantly, banging on the door and waking up the entire house. When his father woke up and came running down the stairs to open the door, the woman came directly to Royce and handed him a piece of torn, bloody paper. He unfolded it carefully. The words scribbled on the paper made his heart skip a beat and made him fall to his knees.

_Royce, hide. Anywhere you can. Rosalie Hale is alive, and she came for me. She is outside my door. –Matthew_

He stared at the message for a few minutes.

“Rosalie? That can’t be possible… she’s dead… dead…” he mumbled, reading the small letter again and again, trying to fool himself that the name written down by Matthew wasn’t Rosalie’s. But he wasn’t deceived. Since that night, his father, Royce King II, had hired a group of guards to keep him safe. They stood watch in front of the hotel room door where Royce was hiding.

He was sitting in the back of the room, sweating like a fucking pig, just waiting for her to find him. He took off his shirt and tossed the sweat-drenched garment on the bed. He took off his shoes and socks because his feet were killing him from the pacing he hadn’t stopped in hours. The more hours and minutes that passed, the more terrified he became. Her ghost—or whatever the hell she was—had killed all his friends, insanely cold-blooded deaths to all of them.

One by one, they had been taken down in vicious ways.

Frank’s head was found in the kitchen trash can, and there were parts of his body still missing. Tommy was dismembered in his dad’s office at their casino, where he apparently hid for weeks.

John was beaten to death; the police couldn’t even determine which side of his head was the face.

And Matthew died because of heart failure after she knocked down his apartment door. His mother found him the next morning sprawled out in the middle of his living room, not breathing.

And Royce?

Royce was just waiting for her to arrive and kill him.

He dragged himself to the bed, resting his head on his arms, trying to stay as calm as he possibly could considering the situation at hand.

“Keep a cool head, Royce. Keep a cool head.” He closed his eyes and began to think of that awful night almost two years ago. And he felt scared, but what was done was done, and there was no going back, right?

He was drifting into an uneven slumber when the screams of the two guards made him jump out of bed and the hell out of his skin.

“She’s here… she’s here…” Royce stuttered, his voice shaking in fear. He paced around the bed, knowing full well it was time to pay his dues.

He heard the distinguished sound of gunshots being fired, muffled voices, and then nothing. A tense silence filled the whole room and a few seconds later the earsplitting screams of the two men filled the air, making Royce dizzy and sick. He vomited and stumbled to the ground, trying to get as far from the door as possible. His heart was beating against his chest so hard that he feared—or rather, hoped—that he would pass out from fear soon.

But for his mother fucking luck, he didn’t.

Rosalie Lillian Hale kicked down the door in a second, and she stared at him; her eyes pierced him with an evil smile on her cherub-like face. She fixed her… _red eyes?_ on him and smirked widely.

“Hello, lover,” she greeted, her voice sending an icy chill down his spine. There was no warmth in it. Only… some sort of sick, sadistic amusement.

_What happened to her? Why is she alive? I’m sure we killed her!_ Royce thought frantically as he kept his eyes on the ghostly woman.

“Now you’re the one who’s afraid, aren’t you, Royce King? I can almost taste your fear.” Her voice sounded different; it was seductively frightening and fascinating all at the same time. She slowly walked towards him, and Royce’s eyes went as big as saucers when he saw her in the light. She was wearing her wedding gown, the one he had bought her when they were to be married.

Royce was shocked. He shook his head several times, opened and closed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, but yes—she was wearing her wedding dress.

“Do you like my wedding dress, Royce? Isn’t it gorgeous?” Rosalie asked, turning around in circles so her ex-fiancé could watch as the dress twirled around her. White ruffles and bows flied around her sculpted body as she kept spinning around in front of him. “I wore it _just for you._ Fits me better now, don’t you reckon, love?” she sneered.

“You are dead! I killed you myself, Rosalie!” he cried, his voice catching in his throat.

She just laughed and nodded. “Yes, you did. And now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

Rosalie had her fun with him. She threw his body against walls, scratched her impossibly sharp nails on his chest, making him scream in agony. He screamed just like she did that night. A few bones were broken, penetrating his skin, his jaw was out of place for sure, and his whole body was aching horribly. His useless limbs were angled in very inhuman ways, draped around the sides of his torn body. He began to cough up blood, making him choke.

He passed out, the pain becoming too unbearable, and the fear of death overcoming him.

When Royce opened his eyes for the last time, he watched Rosalie’s figure retreating out of the room. Taking off her gloves and undoing the zipper on the back of her dress, letting it fall to the floor, she grabbed his trench coat off the desk chair and wrapped it around her naked body. Then, she disappeared.

The pain was everywhere, and Royce asked God for forgiveness and mercy, and to have him die swiftly.

“I… want… to… die… I… want… to… die… God… let… me… die… please…” he repeated in agony. He closed his eyes when he felt that someone was beside him, staring at him curiously. He cried again, thinking that maybe Rosalie noticed he was not dead yet and wanted to finish the job.

Royce didn’t know if it was God who sent him there, or if Satan himself came up from Hell to take him with him. The next thing Royce felt was a burning sensation so intense that he swore he was being scorched alive. This was his punishment for what he did to Rosalie Lillian Hale.

He was burning alive in Hell.


	2. Chapter 1: Paradise Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Goodbye, Rosie," he said. "I'll be seeing you." There was a click as the line went dead, and the phone slipped from Rosalie's hand and clattered to the ground with a crash. Her knees buckled as she soon followed, unable to feel anything but the weight of her world collapsing.
> 
> Impossibly, a part of Rosalie's past that she thought long gone catches up to her. Will Emmett be able to save her from the monster before she finally breaks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Slight references to past rape, but very vague. Um... death of an animal, if that makes you squeamish.

**Porcelain Rose** _by RecklessWriter_

*

**Chapter 1 – Paradise Lost**

_Charlotte, North Carolina, Present Day:_

Charlotte, North Carolina was a big, beautiful city, always bustling with people full of renewed energy. The skies were of the clearest blue and the windows of the tallest buildings shining and sparkling in the sunlight. Though beautiful and magnificent as it was, the constant bearing of the sun’s rays down on the city’s population would cause quite the problem if a coven of vampires decided to inhabit the place, even if the touch of daylight didn’t cause to make them combust into fire and a pile of ashes. But their skin sparkling like diamonds in front of everyone would cause quite the problem with the Volturi, exposure and all of that. And heaven knows they’ve had enough trouble with them in the past without bringing upon themselves more of it. Luckily, on the edge of the city there was a stretch of woods where no one usually entered, except for the odd hiker or two once in a while, and the Olympic Coven had made their home there after the community of Forks had started to realize that they weren’t getting any older. The placement of the house they had moved into was deep within the trees in the forest, and it offered them much privacy and solitude, not to mention a large expanse of land where they could hunt freely without fear of being spotted. It was no Forks, Washington, and the weather was too often bright and sunlit for the coven to attend high school regularly there, but it would do for now. Until they decided it was time to move on again.

Today was another of the clear and sunny days, the sun shining brightly high in the sky, so the members of the Cullen family could forget the idea of going into the city today. That did not, however, mean that they were restricted to the house only. The dense thicket of woods around them provided them with many ideas of ways to pass time (Renesmee _loved_ to go out and play hide and seek, and sometimes the game of tag), and the trees and wildlife made for a very entertaining hunt, that was for sure.

In fact, that was what one of the vampires of the coven was doing this very moment. Rosalie Cullen, formerly Hale, stood crouched behind a large bush, concealed from sight as her blackest-of-black eyes stayed locked on her prey. She was wearing a pair of faded denim jeans, and a simple lacey lavender camisole that tied itself at the back of her neck. Her golden hair was let down around her, a few stands falling near her face, and her usual porcelain-white skin was now bathed in golden light, sparkling from the daylight filtering in between the many leaves of the trees. From her vantage point, she peered around the leaves partially obscuring her vision, eyes never straying from her soon-to-be meal.

The animal was a deer, female judging by the absence of the antlers, and she was bent over chowing on a leafy plant, unaware of Rosalie watching, crouched in a predator-stance, like a lion waiting for the right moment to pounce.

The deer was nothing, just a little thing, really; hardly enough to satisfy her thirst for long. But it would be enough, just barely; enough to keep her sated for the next day, maybe two if she was lucky. She wasn’t having much luck finding, much less _catching,_ any larger animals that day, so the doe would have to do. She wanted to get back to the house.

She crept forward a few more paces, silent as a cat, certain not to move a muscle until she was sure the timing was right and her food wouldn’t get away. The last thing she wanted to do was spend the rest of the afternoon scrounging for something else to eat when she and Emmett could currently be engaged in much more… _satisfying_ activities.

She felt a smirk spread across her face at the thought of those ‘satisfying activities’ but she shook her head clear, not allowing her mind to become distracted from the task at hand. The dainty doe still hadn’t moved much, and the way she was standing didn’t give Rosalie any quick and direct access to the carotid artery. If she punctured that, she could control the blood flow, but if she bit in the wrong place, then things would get messy. And the last thing she wanted was to get blood on her new camisole. All she had to do was wait for the deer to move so she had a different angle…

It took a few more moments of patience and waiting, but the doe eventually did move. She backed up from the large patch of grass she was munching on, and took careful steps forward, maneuvering herself so that she was nearly facing Rosalie’s hiding place, her head turning to the side, her neck exposed.

Rosalie grinned.

She pounced.

She quickly grabbed the animal in a strong hold, wrapping her arms around the doe in a grip like stone, her vampiric senses on overdrive as her lips curled back, exposing her sharpened teeth. The doe squirmed in Rosalie’s grasp as she pinned the deer to the ground. She wasted no time as she plunged her canines into the doe’s throat.

She gulped down the flowing substance greedily, but carefully, so as to not spill even a drop. She had thankfully pierced the right vein, so she didn’t need to worry about washing blood out of her clothing, thank god; blood stains never washed out completely.

Once she had drunk her fill, she disengaged her teeth from the animal’s throat with much more ease than her siblings and husband ever managed. It was easy for her to pull back despite the heady scent and taste of the blood than it was for the rest of her family, because she wasn’t as tempted as they were by human blood. She had never tasted it – not even from Royce and his disgusting friends; she hadn’t wanted any part of _them_ running through her veins – so she wasn’t as tempted by that which she couldn’t have. Animal blood wasn’t as satisfying as it could be, but she had no better choice to compare it to unlike the rest of her coven (not counting Bella and, of course, Ness).

The deer was dead. Rosalie sighed regretfully, her hand hovering over the deer’s frozen, dead eyes as she gently closed them with each of her fingers. There; now she could almost be sleeping… if it wasn’t for the huge gaping wound in the side of her neck.

Rosalie sighed again as she stood, brushing dirt and grass off her jeans. She never liked killing, even something with as little importance as a single deer. But still, better to spill the blood of an animal than that of an innocent bystander. She would _never_ do that.

Well, minus the lives she had taken from _him_ and his friends. But that was different; they had _totally_ deserved everything they got.

Rosalie looked down at the dead doe one last time. “Sorry,” she said softly, wiping at some blood near the corner of her mouth. She spared her previous meal one last fleeting glance before she ran off through the trees, back toward home.

*****

_New York, New York:_

He had searched for her for so long for such a long time – over eighty years long to be exact – had used every resource available to him (and as a high up New York lawyer, that was a lot) but had still found no trace of her.

Royce King was living the high life – or rather, high _un_ life – as a full-time working lawyer in a large New York law firm. The pay was great and so were the hours, and he always had those beautifully delicious interns to snack on. While he may have messed up at his first chance at life, being killed by his undead fiancé and all, he was certainly making his second chance count by getting everything he wanted out of life. With the strength and power he had been gifted, he could have anything, any _one._ The only problem was, the one he wanted above all others seemed nearly impossible to find.

At first, he had been frightened. Ignorant and scared of what had happened to him, what he was becoming. But the one who had turned him had dutifully explained it all to him: vampire, drinking blood, immortality. Strength, speed, agility.

It was the one thing he had always yearned for above else. To be superior; to be in control.

His maker, the one who had changed him, was no one special, nor had he had an actual legitimate reason behind why he did what he did. He was a nomad, some loner vampire hanging out, snacking on the humans for a few odd decades. His name was Galen, and he had been snacking on some brainless woman when he had been attracted by Royce’s pleading screams, begging for God to save him.

Royce didn’t remember much of that night. It was all a bit hazy; a big blur of feelings and colors: blood, so much blood, pain red-hot like knives, then burning, his insides consumed by imagined flames…

Galen had told Royce himself that he wasn’t quite sure why he had made the decision to turn him. He had just looked so pitiful a figure there drowning in his own blood on the floor, yet still stubbornly refusing to die, and Galen had been overcome with curiosity on the behalf of the mortal’s strife to survive, as he would later tell Royce after he woke as a new immortal. He hadn’t stuck around, though; nomads were curious beings, preferring to flit to one place to the next, to visit and move on, and after explaining the rules that came with being one of the undead to Royce, Galen had become restless in staying at the same place too long, and had left. Royce hadn’t seen him since, but either way, he didn’t much care. Galen was of no importance to him; the only thing he cared for now was discovering the location of his beautiful, used-to-be fiancé. She had been his number one priority for the last eighty years.

He felt angry, at first, remembering what his Rose had done to him. She had killed him, tortured him and had purposely prolonged his misery. No one did that to him, got away with that! Not to _him_! He had vowed once he had her in his hold he would make her suffer, to show her how much pain she had put him through that night. But that wasn’t the only thing he felt towards the woman who had been to be his bride; he also felt lust toward her, and, he believed, love. He loved Rosalie, loved her skin and her golden halo of hair, loved her seductive curves and the way her skin felt against his that night out in the town all those years ago, how she had screamed while he had pleasured her.

He loved her; crazy, obsessive, fanatical love.

All he wanted was to be with her, forever. But she had hurt him, killed him; she would have to learn a lesson first, a lesson anyone who dared go up against him learned. The way he saw it, he was doing her a favor; she needed to be put in her place, to learn that as her fiancé, he had control over her. The women of this current century disgusted him; they walked around as if they owned the streets, seeming to forget that their place was on their knees, kissing men’s feet. Honestly, what had the years done to human society?

Over the years, Royce had jumped from city to city, from job to job. The job was always high up in society with great pay and excess to many resources that he would need to search for Rosalie. Usually a law firm or something of that sort, which was where he was working currently, centered in New York City.

Despite his numerous resources, however, Rosalie Lillian Hale had somehow still continued to evade him, and even more disheartening was the fact that she wasn’t even consciously trying. Royce was nearly one-hundred-percent certain that Rosalie didn’t even know that he had been changed into a vampire, much less that he was looking for her.

He had managed to track her down twice in the last eight decades; the first time was about fifty years ago when he had found an article in an old Spanish magazine that told of a Rosalie Hale’s wedding to a Emmett McCarty Cullen in the country of Spain. He had been _furious_ that someone had married _his_ Rose, that someone else would even _want_ her. Based on the little information given to him from the small article, he had tried to track her down, but the effort had soon proved futile. All he had was a name and a vague location of a marital ceremony, and when searching for Rosalie Hale, the only Rosalie Lillian Hale that the records showed had, according to the obituaries, gone missing from Rochester decades ago. The authorities and her family had had no idea of what had actually happened to her.

The second time he had managed to get heads or tails of her was just a couple years ago. Using vast online resources of his New York law firm, he had tracked her down to be living in the small town of Forks, Washington. Under the name of Rosalie Cullen, she attended the local high school with her ‘siblings’ and her husband (the mere mention of him made Royce’s blood boil); according to school records, she had been adopted by a Doctor Carlisle Cullen and his wife. But by the time Royce had confirmed that this was indeed the Rose he was looking for, and had set out for Washington, he had found their home abandoned, their files removed from school records. He had been too late; they had already moved on to somewhere else.

It seemed he would never find her. But then, this past month, he couldn’t help but notice the continuous streak of animal attacks in Charlotte, North Carolina. According to reports, animals had been turning up dead in the forests very frequently, drained completely of their blood. Royce, of course, had no way of knowing if this was his Rose. But it was suspicious; not many vampire clans survived off the blood of animals, instead of just feeding off live, and Royce’s extensive research had revealed to him that the coven that Rose ran with did not feed off the blood of people, choosing instead to survive off forest animals.

He was in a very high position of power in his firm; to get his suspicions confirmed, he had been able to hire a man he knew who lived near the area to watch the woods near the area, to see if anyone was living out there in the woods, to bring him proof that it was his Rose. And the man had done just that.

Royce currently sat in his spinning leather chair in his large office at the law firm. In front of him were a pile of developed, expanded photos, all of them showing a golden-haired beauty. Sometimes in the photos she was with a broad-built, dark-haired man, or another person of the family, but the primary focus of the shots was of the blonde.

Royce would recognize her anywhere. It was Rosalie, it had to be; the only difference was her eyes, which the pictures showed to be a liquid gold, unlike the violet they had been as a human and the blood-red they had been on the last night he had seen her. But that small difference was no matter; he had finally found his Rose.

And nothing in the world could stop him from getting to her now.

*****

_Charlotte, North Carolina:_

Rosalie walked up the cement steps of the house (she still wasn’t comfortable enough with it to call it _her_ house), exiting the valley of trees and deciding to enter through the back door whether than waste time walking all the way around to the front.

The house was small and hidden, not a place that someone would normally give a second thought to, but, despite its smallness and average size and uninteresting white paint, it was also, to a certain degree, beautiful. It wasn’t good to look at in that glamorous, expensive, have-to-have way, but was rather nice and homey; the type of place Rosalie didn’t usually go for. She usually went for the biggest, most expensive places. But even she had to admit that, for something so unextrodinary, it was actually an okay place to live. For now.

Rosalie turned the handle of the screen door and pushed it open, stepping onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen. She closed the door behind her, and her eyebrows furrowed slightly as the sound of yelling reached her ears, coming from the living room.

“…I am talking about something _primal,_ alright? _Savagery_! Brutal, animal instinct!”

“And that wins out every time with you! The human race has evolved, Emmett!”

Rosalie cautiously made her way toward the living room, wary of what she was going to walk in on, especially with her husband involved.

When she stepped into the room she was met with the sight of her entire family gathered there, minus three: Bella, Renesmee, and Carlisle. Bella and her daughter were probably somewhere together, and Carlisle was most likely around here somewhere. As for the current occupants of the room, Jasper sat in an armchair with Alice perched next to him on the arm of it, swinging her feet joyously. Esme sat on the couch with her hands in her lap, her legs crossed gracefully. As for where all the yelling was coming from, Emmett and Edward were currently facing each other head on, yelling back and forth about something that sounded pretty serious, but knowing them, was actually really ridiculous. The rest of the fam was watching them with half-amused half-exasperated looks on their faces.

“We’re bigger, we’re smarter,” Edward continued to yell over Emmett, “plus, there’s a thing called teamwork, not to mention the superstitious terror of your ‘pure’ aggressors!”

Emmett scoffed. “You just want it to be the way you want it—“

“It’s not about what I want!” he cut Emmett off. Alice giggled, and Rosalie could see why. Even if she had no idea what the two were arguing about, at that moment it was very easy to compare them to an old married couple.

Deciding it was time to intervene, Rosalie stepped farther into the room so everyone could clearly see her, and realize she had returned from her quick hunting trip. When her presence still failed to distract the two idiotic boys from their yelling, she cleared her throat and pointedly asked, “What on _earth_ are the two of you arguing about?”

Both of their heads snapped around to face her. A grin made its way across Emmett’s face. “Rose!” he exclaimed loudly. Edward only offered an acknowledging nod; everyone knew that they rarely shared affections.

“Hey,” Rose greeted back with a smile in her husband’s direction. “So what has you two so wound up? It sounds serious.”

Jasper snorted softly. “Trust me, it’s anything but.”

Emmett shot Jasper a light glare and then looked to Edward. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just…” he took a deep breath of unneeded air. “If cavemen and astronauts were to get in a fight to the death, who do you think would win?”

She stared blankly at her husband and brother for a few moments, blinking, trying to process the words. “Seriously? _That’s_ what you were arguing about?”

“For the last fifteen minutes,” Esme told her with a slight twitch of her lips.

Rosalie felt that at that moment she could have hit her head against the wall. Repeatedly. She settled for rolling her eyes instead. “You two are ridiculous,” she told them as she made her way across the room to sit herself next to her surrogate mother on the sofa.

Emmett grinned that goofy grin of his that always made her weak in the knees. “But you love me for it.”

He and Edward had separated now, and he was close enough to her that she could lean forward without moving from her place and whisper seductively, “Yes, I do,” and close the remaining space between their lips.

Emmett’s hands reached up to cup her face and then moved to entangle themselves in her hair. As always, she felt herself by natural instinct leaning into his touch, which left her putty in his hands, like a silly school girl with a crush. And his mouth on hers was heavenly; God, the things he could do with those lips would have any girl moaning his name…

Rosalie heard Edward make a sound of immense disgust from a few feet away, and couldn’t stop the smirk that formed on her face, knowing he must have been tuning in to her thoughts. _Serves you right,_ she thought, _maybe that will teach you not to eavesdrop on others’ private thoughts without asking first._

Still, even though torturing Edward brought her a sort of vindictive pleasure, she decided to for once take pity on him, and reluctantly pulled back. Emmett made a sound of protest, pouting at her slightly. Edward still looked disturbed, and so did Jasper; he could probably sense the lust that was no doubt coming off of them in waves. She supposed she knew how they felt; it was disgusting enough for her when she walked in on one of her siblings or her parents… well, those were just way too traumatizing memories for her to be thinking about. _Ever._

Pulling Emmett down on the other side of her (who was still looking downcast at the lack of action he was getting), Rosalie asked the room at large, “So where is everyone?”

“Bella and Nessie are off somewhere around here,” Alice informed her. Rose nodded, trying not to wrinkle her nose in distaste toward the nickname the mutt had given Renesmee that had seemed to quickly catch on since her birth. Renesmee was already an unusual name, but _Nessie_? Ugh.

“Carlisle’s at the hospital,” Edward added, which to Rosalie was to be expected. Carlisle had continued to work as a doctor after they moved, just at a different hospital. His self-restraint still never failed to amaze Rosalie. She would never have been able to be around that much blood each day and still be able to stay in control.

“Oh…” she trailed off, getting distracted by something after glancing to the side toward her husband. She squinted and reached up a hand to touch his face, realizing that his eyes had darkened greatly from the last time she had seen him. “Baby, when was the last time you fed?” she asked with a slight disapproving frown.

Emmett shrugged, unconcerned. “Dunno. A few days ago?”

“Me and Jazz were about to go out hunting in a bit,” Alice piped up in her musical voice. She turned to Emmett, “You can tag along if you’re hungry, Emmett.”

Emmett furrowed his brows, glancing at his wife. Rosalie knew he was due to go hunting, but was torn between his need for blood and his want to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed with her doing anything _but_ sleeping (it’s not like they could sleep anyways). Rose wished she knew Emmett hadn’t gone hunting lately; she could have taken him with her while she went. Oh well.

She nodded her permission toward him. “Go ahead, chase down some grizzly bears. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Edward wrinkled his nose at both of their thoughts, but said nothing.

Emmett sighed reluctantly, tearing his gaze from Rosalie. Then he grinned again at the pixie-like girl. “Sure! I could do for a good wrestle with a bear to deprive me of all this restless energy!”

Rosalie rolled her eyes. You would think nearly being killed – _permanently_ – by a rabid bear would be cause for her husband to want to avoid the animal, but no, not Emmett; he just wasn’t rational like that.

Alice said to Edward, “You can come, too,” but he declined the invite with a shake of his head.

“No thanks, Alice. I think I’m going to go check up on Bella and Renesmee.” He stood up and turned, making his way out of the room and down the hall toward his daughter’s room without so much as a goodbye.

Rosalie huffed after he was out of sight, crossing her arms across her chest. “Well, he’s certainly Mr. Moody, isn’t he?”

Jasper shrugged. “He’s been in a mood lately. I can sense it.”

Rosalie _hmm_ ed thoughtfully, looking at the place where Edward had exited before dispelling all thoughts of him. Him and his confusing mood swings were none of her concern.

Esme, forever the compassionate one, looked concerned after her son’s abrupt departure, but stood up and announced, “I’m going to go meet your father at the hospital.” She looked to her three children who were going out hunting. “Don’t let anyone see you. And be careful, okay?”

Jasper and Emmett nodded along with Alice, who promised, “Always.”

*****

Rosalie was bored; and not just sitting, not doing anything boredom, but the extremely aggravating, never-ending, want-to-bang-your-head-against-the-wall type of boredom. It was, sadly, one of the major pitfalls of eternity. That along with the blood drinking, and the never reproducing, and the whole _‘immortality’_ part of immortality, with the whole ‘never aging’ and all. After so many years on this planet, life never changing just got a bit… well, boring. And, as a vampire, she didn’t even have the luxury of falling asleep to pass time.

Sigh. Rosalie leaned against the wall of her and Emmett’s room which she had retreated to after everyone had left. When were they getting back? And shouldn’t Esme and Carlisle be back from the hospital by now? She needed to be in the company of someone she actually _liked_ and someone she could tolerate. Certainly not Edward; he was too uptight and judgmental, plus whenever he wasn’t hanging with Ness or off with Bella doing things that Rosalie _so_ did not want to know about, he always acted as if someone had shoved a stick up his ass, and let’s not even get her _started_ on the mind reading thingy. And Bella…? She was nice enough, and her and Rosalie had bonded, so she no longer held the irrational hate for the girl that she had once ago harbored. But despite them working through their issues and becoming sort of, dare she say it, _friends_ , her and Bella just didn’t seem to really click. She wasn’t really the person that Rose imagined seeking out to make conversation with at the moment.

 _But…_ Rosalie’s eyes lit up in realization. _Renesmee_! Ness was here, with her parents in her bedroom! She couldn’t believe she could have forgotten! She could talk with her adorable little niece; sure, three year olds weren’t the best with keeping up conversation, but Ness looked to be the age of ten, and was very intellectual for her age. And she was one of Rosalie’s favorite people to hang around with; she supposed she was so fond of the girl because she was trying to make up for the daughter that she would (sadly) never get to have.

Rosalie pushed herself off the wall of the bedroom, smile in place, feeling considerably more upbeat now that she had an idea of some way to cure her growing boredom. She hoped Ness wouldn’t mind being separated from her oh-so-overprotective parents for a while to hang out with her.

Exiting her and her husband’s bedroom, she made her way down to the end of the hall and then turned the corner, bounding down the staircase that led to the ground-level floor, and also, the hall where Renesmee’s room was located. Her and her parents should still be in there.

She reached the end of the staircase and turned, loping down the hallway, stopping at one of the closed doors that was painted white, a plague hanging saying _‘Nessie’s Room’_ resting on it. From beyond the shut door, Rosalie could hear voices emanating from the inside.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open just enough so she could poke her head in and direct towards her niece a blinding smile. Renesmee was currently resting squished up between her parents, all of their backs leaning up against the side of her bed as they took turns reading from a book (it was probably some sort of fairytale; Ness had always liked those stories).

“Hey there, girly,” Rose said brightly. “Think I can pry you away from your Mom and Dad for a while?”

An instant grin that warmed Rosalie’s undead heart immediately lit up the young child’s face when she caught sight of her aunt. “Auntie Rose! What are you doin’ here? I thought you were out hunting!”

Rosalie shook her head. “Nope. I stayed behind. I thought I could spend some quality auntie time with my little niece. What do you say?”

Renesmee very clearly wanted to, but before answering she looked to both of her parents. “Can I, Mom? Daddy? Puh-leeeeeeasssse!” she begged.

Both Edward and Bella looked reluctant to give their daughter up, but both of them still smiled down at her, Bella tucking a lock of the girl’s bronze hair behind her ear before consenting, “Of course, sweetie. Me and Daddy will just be in our room if you need us, ‘kay?”

Renesmee nodded seriously. “Okay, Mom.” She scrambled up in a much less graceful way than her parents did, bolting over to her aunt as her parents stood and silently slipped passed Rosalie and out of the room, Edward stopping to drop a quick kiss on Ness’s head.

“Aunt Rosalie?”

“What, honey?” Rose asked the hybrid girl.

“Can you read me a story?” Renesmee looked up at her with those chocolaty brown eyes, and Rosalie couldn’t resist her. She melted.

“Of course. What will we be reading today?”

She plopped down in the place where Bella and Edward were before, pulling her niece onto her lap. Renesmee reached out and grabbed a hold of a book, offering it to her.

Rosalie took it, reading the title, _“Little Red Riding Hood.”_ She smiled at the obvious choice; it was Ness’s favorite. Shifting to get more comfortable, she began to read, having Renesmee’s full attention despite the numerous times she had read the book:

“ _Once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone who looked at her, but most of all by her grandmother, and there was nothing that she would not have given to the child. Once she gave her a little riding hood of red velvet, which suited her so well that she would never wear anything else; so she was always called 'Little Red Riding Hood'_ …”

*****

Renesmee had fallen asleep during Rosalie’s reading of _Red Riding Hood_ and once Rose had managed to slip out from under the little girl without waking her, Bella had come to put her to bed, saying that it was only natural of her to fall asleep, even this early in the afternoon; she had had an exhausting day. Edward was still off doing whatever it was Edward did, and personally, Rosalie didn’t much care where he was. She was much happier when he and his mind-invading skills were as far from her as possible. She loved Edward of course, much like one would love a highly irritating brother, but goodness knows the man didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word _boundaries._ As in, for the love of God, _please_ stay out of other people’s heads uninvited. Did the boy have no manners? I mean, _hello_ , invasion of _privacy_ , much? Who on Earth had decided to give Edward that power, anyway? It was damn _annoying_ , not to mention—

The sound of the phone ringing cut through Rosalie’s thoughts, the shrill sound momentarily distracting her from her inner-ramblings on the unfairness and intrusiveness of Edward’s special ability. She let out a huff as she stomped over to the island table in the center of the kitchen where the house phone sat in its cradle. She wondered who could be calling; besides her family, the only ones who had the number to the house were the mutt, Charlie, and perhaps Seth. Was Jacob maybe calling to talk to Ness? It was the only plausible explanation Rosalie could think of.

Picking up the phone and not bothering to look at the caller ID, Rosalie immediately snipped, “Look, Fido, Renesmee is sleeping at the moment, so you and your pedophile vibes can go—“ The words that were going to follow that sentence were highly inappropriate for children’s ears, but the voice on the other end of the receiver cut her off.

“ _Rosalie_.”

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. Her entire body stiffened up like a board and if her heart was still beating, she was sure it would have stopped completely in her chest. She let out a shuddering breath, her throat constricting, starting to become lightheaded despite her lack of need for oxygen.

“Who is this?” Her voice, when she finally managed to speak, was harsh and cutting, more so than Rosalie herself could ever remember it being.

The voice on the other end let out a low chuckle. “Well, Rosie, I’ve got to tell you, I’m a bit disappointed you don’t remember me. After all, you don’t forget your past loves so easily.”

Dread and horror grew deep in the gut of her stomach, but denial still raged its way through her veins as she refused to admit what was staring her straight in the face. She pulled the phone away from her ear and checked the screen; the caller ID read _private number_.

No. No, it just wasn’t possible, it wasn’t…

…But the voice, she would know that awful voice anywhere…

…He was dead. She killed him. She had watched as that disgusting bastard had drowned in his own blood…

…He was the only one who ever called her _Rosie_ …

… _No. No, no, no, no, no… God, please, no…_

Finally, amidst the broken shambles of her life falling apart, _crashing down_ ; around her, she managed to gasp out in a weak, raspy voice that didn’t even sound like her own. “ _Royce—“_

Rosalie couldn’t see him, but she could practically _feel_ him smirk through the receiver. “Bingo. Took you long enough. You don’t know how long I’ve been looking for you, sweetheart.”

Rosalie felt numb. Her limbs felt useless, her mind blank and dumb. The phone felt like a dead weight in her hand, and her legs threatened to collapse from beneath her. This wasn’t happening, this _wasn’t happening_ …

The sickly voice of her ex-fiancé once again came through the receiver. “I expect you must be a great deal shocked. I’m sorry to do this over the phone,” he told her, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “I was hoping to announce myself to you face-to-face, but the waiting was tiresome, and as you know, I’ve never been one for patience.”

Rosalie swayed on her feet. Black spots danced before her vision, threatening to render her unconscious. Was that even possible? Could vampires faint if they had no need for air?

“Goodbye, Rosie,” Royce said, his voice coated in amusement. “I’ll be seeing you.” There was a click, and the line went dead.

Rosalie stared at the phone in her hand numbly, uncomprehendingly, the familiar, haunting voice forever imprinted into her brain. The phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the linoleum floor with a crash. Her knees buckled, unable to support her weight, and she soon followed it as she felt her entire perfect world shatter into a million little pieces around her, and then she was falling… _falling…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments, kudos, tell me what you think. Sorry it took me so long to get this up.


	3. Better Days

“Rose… Rosalie… Are you _in_ there?”

“Why isn’t she waking up?”

“I’m not sure… It looks as if she’s fainted…”

“ _Fainted_? Can vampires even faint? Don’t you have to be _alive_ and _breathing_ to do that?”

“Jacob, shut _up_. Nobody _asked_ you!”

“I was only saying…”

“Do you think she’s dead?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alice, of course she isn’t.”

“But she’s not _moving_!”

“Think that I should slap her? That could wake her up.”

“No! Don’t. You could end up causing internal damage. Messing up her brain.”

“Too late _there_ …”

“Hey! That’s my wife you’re talking about there, you son of a--“

“All of you _be quiet_! I think she’s waking up…”

Rosalie’s head throbbed as she began to regain consciousness, all the numerous, familiar voices simultaneously invading her ears. She could hardly make sense of the words that were being said, let alone whom all of the voices belonged to. Everything felt dull and blurred. Her brain pounded against her skull and felt as if someone had taken a hammer to it. She tried to reach back into her memory to remember what had occurred to leave her in such a state, but thinking was too painful at the moment, so she decided to stop and dwell on it more later. What had happened?

Slowly, Rosalie became more aware of her surroundings as it became clear she was laying on what felt to be the floor, linoleum to be specific; in the kitchen. The floor’s equal-in-size square tiles were cool against the bare skin of her arms and back of her neck. Trying feebly to open her eyes, it was much more effort than she had anticipated, but eventually she managed to pry them open a slant.

Nearly a dozen blurry figures hovered over her, watching her worriedly through their identical golden eyes. Rose blinked rapidly several times to get her eyes adjusted to the sudden lighting, and she began to see more clearly, now able to make out who the previously faceless silhouettes had been. Esme, Carlisle, Bella, Edward, Jasper, Emmett, Renesmee (the only one present without the signature golden eyes), and Alice stared down at her with undisguised relief. To be honest, it was a bit disconcerting to have them all at once gazing at her like that.

What had happened? Why couldn’t she remember?

“You’re awake!” Alice immediately squealed as the blonde tried to push herself off the ground using her elbows. She flung herself at Rose joyously and wrapped her arms around her neck in that over-enthusiastic way of hers that practically screamed ‘Alice’. “I knew you couldn’t be dead!”

Rosalie smiled, though a little disgruntled, as she tried in vain to pry her sister’s arms off of her. She might have lost her balance and went tumbling back down on the floor if Alice hadn’t been so tiny and light that she was practically weightless, but because of this, she managed to stay upright despite the impact of the perky girl’s petite body. “Yes, and I’m very glad,” she responded, still very much confused. “But what happened?” She glanced around her. “Why am I on the floor?”

Her family exchanged worried glances with each other while, kneeled in front of her, obvious concern bloomed in Carlisle’s eyes, a slight frown marring his features. “You mean you cannot remember what it was that possibly could have caused you to faint?”

Rosalie frowned to herself. “I fainted?” She had fainted? Weren’t faints caused by lack of oxygen to the brain, or something or other? “But I’m a _vampire_ ,” she stressed as she expressed her thoughts. “How could that happen?”

Emmett shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t know, babe. The rest of us just came back from huntin’ a few minutes ago, and Bella said that she and Edward just found you laying here on the floor. We couldn’t wake you up.” His tone was light and he was obviously trying to act unconcerned, but Rosalie could see in his eyes how scared he had actually been for her. She knew how much he worried and cared for her; he just wasn’t always the best at showing that side of him, especially in front of other people.

Alice had finally backed up off of her and out of her personal space, and was hovering closer to Jasper as she usually did, so Rosalie was now able to push herself up completely off the floor so she was standing upright. She walked over to her husband and allowed him to wrap his strong arms around her as she wrapped hers around his waist. She hated to appear vulnerable in any way in front of her family, but right now she needed the extra reassurance. She didn’t feel quite right; she had the strangest sensation, like she wasn’t firmly in her own skin.

“What happened, Rose?” Jasper asked curiously, but gently. He was standing just a few paces to Emmett’s left, and had his hand wrapped around his mate’s skinny waist.

Rose shook her head, opening her mouth to answer with an honest ‘I don’t know’, but before she could even utter a sound, one of her least favorite people answered for her.

“She probably walked passed a mirror and got spooked by her own reflection.” The clever quip, followed by a mocking laugh, was obviously supposed to be teasing, and was spoken by none other than Jacob Black. Someone who also conveniently enough happened to be very close to the top on Rosalie’s personal dislike list.

Jacob’s lips were pulled up into a half-smirk, and he casually leaned up against the doorframe with his arms crossed, looking without a care in the world. He was currently without a shirt, and was the only one in the room who didn’t look overly concerned about the blonde vampire’s brief fainting spell.

Rosalie found him _absolutely infuriating._

Many people cracked slight smiles at his rather offensive joke, much to Rosalie’s annoyance. “ _Jacob_ ,” Bella lightly scolded, but any effect it might have had was ruined by the slight laugh that followed it.

Renesmee giggled as well, covering her mouth with her hand to contain her laughter before playfully swatting at him. “Jake, that’s _mean_ ,” she declared.

Rosalie immediately pulled back from Emmett’s embrace when she registered the mutt’s presence, not wanting him to see what she perceived to be weakness. “What are _you_ doing here?” she asked, her nose wrinkling in disdain (and also at the disgusting smell of dog).

Jacob shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing.” Rosalie continued to look at him through narrowed eyes (because he still lived in Forks, so he wouldn’t come this far just for _nothing_ ) and he sighed, reluctantly admitting, “Fine, I came to see Nessie.”

Ness, who was stationed between her mother and the mutt, smiled brightly at this statement, bouncing up and down on the tips of her toes. She took his hand in her smaller one, swinging their clasped hands back and forth merrily. He smiled down at her, a look of love and adoration on his face.

Rosalie very nearly gagged, but managed to stop herself. _Pedophile,_ she thought fiercely, glaring.

Of course, Rosalie knew that Jacob wasn’t _actually_ a pedophile, no matter how much of a creeper she thought he was. He would never even think of doing anything to hurt Renesmee, and he would never look at her in any way that was anything other than friend-like or brotherly until she was well out of childhood (he knew Edward would pound him within an inch of his life if he did). He cared about her too much to take advantage of her affections. But despite his seemingly good intentions with her niece, Rosalie still thought him to be a bad influence on the lovable girl.

Rose froze, going as stiff as a pole. _Pedophile._ The word echoed in her head, bouncing around in her subconscious. Pedophile; the word meant something. But what?

And suddenly it hit her.

_“Look, Fido, Renesmee is sleeping at the moment, so you and your pedophile vibes can go…”_

She remembered now; remembered answering the phone and assuming it was Jacob calling, remembered saying those words into the receiver. She remembered the voice on the other end, breathing her name as if he hardly dared to believe it. She remembered the way her body had seemed to go numb as she realized… it was _him_ …

The memory and realization of why she had fainted slammed into her with more force than a bunch of bricks. The blood in her veins turned cold as ice, and if her heart had been beating it would have stopped dead in her chest.

_“Rosalie.”_

That voice, so familiar, the utterance of those mere three syllables bringing back decades-ago of long buried memories . . .

_“Goodbye, Rosie. I’ll be seeing you.”_

She was vaguely aware of Emmett frowning at her as he noticed her sudden change in posture, her body now standing rigid. “Rose? Is something wrong?” he asked her. “Are you alright?”

No, no she wasn’t, she felt sick. Bile rose up in her throat. His voice seemed to echo in her ears, the sound of his sickening laughter. Emmett’s voice seemed muffled, and the whole world around her seemed to blur and spin. Everyone was staring at her now in concern, even Jacob this time. But she saw none of it. She was lost, lost in the memory of a hauntingly familiar voice coming from the other end of the phone.

_“. . . don’t forget your past loves . . .”_

_“. . . how long I’ve been looking for you . . .”_

_“Royce . . .”_

The complete memory of the phone call from _him_ earlier washed over her and her face went pale as death, remembering the short yet seemingly endless conversation, of her world blacking around the edges, of that terrible, impossible voice, _Royce King . . ._

She put a hand over her mouth. She was going to be sick.

She bolted.

She jerked free of her husband’s light grip on her forearm, darting passed her family, ignoring their frantic calls of her name, her mind practically screaming ( _no no no not possible not happening no no no_ ). She ran through the living room and up the stairs, her feet pounding loudly up the steps as she took the stairs three at a time. As a vampire she had no need to breathe, but she found herself gasping for breath as she ran down the hall and threw open the door to the bathroom.

She collapsed on her knees on the cold tiled floor, bending over the toilet as she got violently sick. Her throat burned, and she got that tight feeling in her chest that made her think she was close to crying. But she didn’t. Through the entire ordeal, her eyes remained completely dry; vampires couldn’t shed tears.

She wasn’t sure when he had gotten there, but Emmett was suddenly knelt beside her, pulling her hair back as she vomited. When she had finished dry heaving, she pushed herself back roughly from the toilet seat, wiping her mouth with much more vigor than was necessary. She suddenly felt disgusted with herself. What had come over her? God, and everyone downstairs had seen as well! Now even the mutt had seen how pathetically weak she had been. She would never live down the embarrassment.

She pressed herself up against the bathroom wall, trying to slow her ragged breathing. Emmett reached up to pluck a tissue from the box atop the sink, a look of uncharacteristic gentleness on his face. Mortified, Rosalie took it from him, cleaning off her mouth while cringing at the smell of her own breath.

For a long while the two of them just sat like that. Rosalie pulled her knees up to her chest, and Emmett placed a reassuring hand on her knee, that simple gesture conveying all the things he didn’t say.

He didn’t understand. But he was there for her.

Eventually he broke the silence. “Babe?” he asked, almost timidly, seeming wary of startling her. “What’s going on? Did you remember what happened downstairs?”

Rosalie could only nod mutely. She opened her mouth to speak – what she was going to _say_ , she wasn’t all too sure – but the words seemed to become lodged in her throat. Her mind no longer felt impossibly numb from the afternoon’s events, but now it was spinning like a whirlwind, still unenabling her to think clearly.

She had dealt with many scary and seemingly-impossible things during the eternity that was her immortal life, but this one knocked them all off the radar. Despite how calm and collected she always appeared to be when a crisis broke out, this was not one of those times. _This_ she could _not_ handle . . . _this_ she could _not_ process. It was just _too much_ , even for her. Royce King, the man who had haunted her subconscious for the past eighty years, whom Rosalie had long ago made damn sure was history, was back as a vampire (because that’s what he had to be now, right, one of the Immortals?). And what was worse, he had been looking for _her_ , for reasons that Rosalie didn’t even want to begin to contemplate.

And now, he had finally found her.

And now, all Rose could think about was what she was going to do. What _he_ was going to do. What did he want from her – revenge? Why was it that, even in death, he was still there, haunting her? Looming over her, a constant shadow of her past. Why, after all these years – why couldn’t he just leave her _alone_?

Her first few years after being turned had been particularly hard on Rosalie, and not just due to the devastating fact that she would forever be stuck at the age of nineteen, never having a chance to grow old and start a family. It was also so challenging to get by because of _him_ , because of the violent and painful memory of her death, of what they had done to her. The first few months she could hardly close her eyes without seeing his face, without hearing their drunken laughter in her ears, remembering the sickening feeling of their rough hands on her body, touching her, tearing at her. After she had taken her vengeance on them, it had helped some, pushing her demons back, out of her mind. But even after, they still sometimes snuck up on her occasionally. Repressed, but not forgotten.

And then had come Emmett; reckless and impulsive, but also sweet and caring, he had somehow managed to worm his way into her damaged heart without her even realizing it, her knight in shining armor who swept her off her feet, her little semblance of a happily ever after. He had given her eternal days meaning, gave her something to look forward to.

And now he was bent kneeling by her side, peering into her eyes anxiously, lines of concern gouged into his handsome features. Concern for her. “Rose,” he appealed, “tell me what happened, babe.”

Rosalie stared at her husband, one of her teeth digging slightly into her bottom lip. She couldn’t tell him. Could she? She didn’t want to worry him; if she told Emmett, about Royce, then the rest of the family would know. That is, if they didn’t all know already; Edward could read her mind. For all she knew, he had heard everything, was filling the rest of the family in on the situation right now.

God, what would she do?

“ _Rosalie_ ,” Emmett prompted, and by the use of her full name, she knew he was serious, “please. Talk to me.”

She shook her head. What would happen if she told Emmett? Did Royce want to keep his mysterious reappearance a secret? Would Emmett be in danger if he knew?

“I can’t,” she told him, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry, Em, but I just can’t.”

Now he looked slightly angry – no, more like frustrated. He let out a heavy breath, taking his hand off her knee and running it over his face. “Dammit, Rose, why _not_? I’m trying to _help_ you!”

“Well, don’t,” Rosalie said bluntly, her voice coming out a bit harsher than she meant it to. She hadn’t meant to take her frustrations out on him. “It’s nothing, really.”

She pushed herself up off the ground and stood up, but as she went to make for the door, Emmett grabbed ahold of her arm. “’ _Nothing_ ’?” he repeated incredulously. “Rose, a few moments ago you were kneeled over the toilet!”

If Rosalie had been any other woman, she might have blushed at the embarrassing reminder. But instead, her lips just tightened a bit, her face looking strained. “Please, Emmett. Just leave it.”

Emmett opened his mouth, no doubt to tell her that, no, he would not ‘just leave it’, but Rosalie took this moment to break free of his hold on her arm, flinging the door open and bolting away from him down the stairwell.

* * *

 

Someone flashed by down the stairs through the kitchen and out the door at the speed of a bullet, giving none of the family a chance to react. In his perpetual vision, Edward thought he spotted a blur of golden blonde hair, but Rosalie was going too fast for him to actually seriously consider going after her. Not that he wasn’t worried for her; he loved his sister, even if his way of showing it was different from the rest of the family’s. But if what he had heard from her mind was indeed correct, then Edward would venture the guess that Rose wished to be alone for a while.

“Rose!” Emmett came pounding after her down the stairs, much too late to even hope to catch up with her. Strength was what Emmett tended to excel most at, not speed. He had no hope of catching up with her now.

“Son, what happened?” Carlisle asked in that compassionate voice of his that always seemed to convey his strong feelings on a subject. He was worried about her, Edward could tell that much from his thoughts. Most of them were thinking the same thing, all of them filled with confusion and concern; all of their troubled thoughts floated simultaneously through his head, as if they were his own – _what’s up with her, she’s never freaked out like that before, the poor dear, hope she’s alright_ –

Edward just frowned, trying to focus less on the thoughts of the people around him and more on his own. Before she had bolted upstairs and out of his power’s range, he hadn’t been able to get a clear read of her thoughts because her head had been all jumbled up and confused. She had been in shock, and Edward hadn’t gotten a good read on her, like an out-of-range radio station where all you could hear was a bunch of static. But he had been able to make out one word during her internal panic attack. And that word was nothing good.

Emmett shook his head, frustration clearly shown on his face as he answered Carlisle’s question, “I don’t know, Carlisle. She told me she remembered what happened that caused her to faint – or rather, I guessed she remembered and she confirmed – but when I tried to ask her about it she totally freaked out on me and just _left_.” He shook his head and sank down into a nearby chair. “I just don’t get it. If something’s bothering her, then why won’t she just tell me?”

Edward tightened his jaw. He wanted to believe he had misread Rose’s thoughts when he picked up that single word, but it was more than likely that he didn’t, listening to Emmett. Rose never liked to show weakness, and if her bad experiences with the opposite gender were causing damage to her mental state, she would never admit it. She was too prideful. Still, Edward didn’t understand why this would be bothering her _now,_ especially so suddenly with no warning. She had worked passed the awful memories of her former fiancé; she had healed.

“Maybe she’s afraid to tell you,” Alice suggested to Emmett quietly.

Emmett seemed genuinely astonished. The thought appeared to have never occurred to him. “Afraid? Why would she be afraid?”

Alice shrugged. “I dunno. It was just a thought.” She twisted her head to peer curiously at Jasper. “Did she sense scared to you?”

Jasper, who could sense and control emotions, shook his head, looking stumped. “No. I couldn’t really sense anything from her. One second she seemed normal, and then . . . nothing. I’m pretty sure she was in shock.”

Edward thought back to when he had tried to read her mind, and found himself agreeing. Shock seemed a pretty accurate way to describe it.

“Well, what about you?” Emmett suddenly asked, turning towards him. “You must have heard what she was thinking about.”

Everyone’s eyes swiveled in Edward’s direction, all of them inquiring.

Edward’s lips pressed into a thin line, not sure if he should tell them. Rosalie’s thoughts were her own to share, especially when it came to this subject manner. But the fact that she was thinking about _him_ again was troubling; Edward had been under the assumption that she had gotten over the event leading up to her crude death years ago. He shouldn’t tell the rest of them; if she was becoming troubled over past events, then she wouldn’t want Edward broadcasting her weakness to everyone. But this had been so sudden, as if she had realized or remembered something, which remained impossible because Royce King III was dead.

But the way Rose had reacted . . . she had seemed terrified.

Bella placed a hand on his arm, gazing up at him imploringly. Edward eased up a bit under her gentle touch.

“Edward?” Carlisle prompted. All of their eyes gazing into him was beginning to become disconcerting. “What is it, son?”

He sighed, deciding there was nothing to be done for it, running a hand wearily through his bronze hair. “I didn’t get much from her,” he admitted. “Like Jasper said, she seemed too shocked to think coherently. Confused, mostly. But . . . I did manage to make out one word.”

“Well? What was it?”

Edward hesitated, not sure whether to tell them, before admitting slowly, “. . . Royce. I heard the name Royce.”

Everyone in the room went completely still, like statues. They all knew of Rosalie’s past, were familiar with the name of Royce King, all had an urge to rip his throat out were he alive. Edward had experienced the urge as well several times himself. But they never spoke of it, and neither did Rosalie; his name had not once in what had to be over half a century passed the Cullens’ lips. They knew how much the mention of _him_ still affected her, no matter how much she tried to downplay it and brush it off.

And now, all of the Cullens, a deep worry forming behind their golden eyes, were all wondering the same thing Edward was: why had Rose so suddenly thought of him _now_? Why had she freaked out like that over an old issue, even if it was still somewhat traumatizing? It just didn’t make sense; something didn’t add up.

Renesmee let go of the mutt’s hand to yank lightly on the hem of her mother’s sleeve, looking confused. Even she knew the story of how Rose had been changed, though the version she was told was much more vague and age-appropriate, being told that Rosalie had been simply ‘attacked’ by Royce and his friends, leaving out the specifics. She was too young for that. And since the name Royce King was scarcely spoken, she had most likely forgotten whom this ‘Royce’ was, and was oblivious to why they were all reacting so strongly to a simple name.

“Mom?” she wondered. “What’s wrong? Why did Aunt Rose go away?”

Bella shushed her quietly, but kindly as to not hurt her feelings. “Not now, sweetie.”

“Well, what should we do?” Alice asked worriedly. “Should we go after her?”

They looked to Emmett for a response to her question, who shook his head. “Nah. When I tried to talk to her . . . she was _freaked_. I think it’s best if we let her be. She’ll come back in a few hours, and then we’ll ask her what’s up.” _If she wants to tell us, even._

The rest of the Cullens nodded and made various vague noises of agreement, beginning to shuffle out of the kitchen. When they had all gone, Jacob was left leaning against the wall of the empty room, a look of immense confusion on his face.

He frowned and wondered to himself, “Who the hell is ‘Royce’?”

* * *

 

The rest of the week at the Cullen household was tense and awkward, especially when it came to Rosalie. She still wouldn’t tell anybody what was wrong, and whenever somebody asked or hinted at the subject, she got snappish and bitchy, which, granted, wasn’t all that unusual considering she was like that most of the time, but she usually lightened up on the bitch-o-meter when it came to Emmett and Ness, but not this time. Emmett received her bad temper at full force, and if in a really bad mood, she would even be curt and sharp with Renesmee, which until now was unheard of.

Jacob had agreed to stay in the area for the next couple days before he went back to Forks so he could hang around Nessie for a while longer. He wasn’t sleeping at the house of course, Rosalie would have had a fit. He still had no clue who this ‘Royce’ person was that he sometimes heard the Cullens whispering in lowered voices about when Blondie wasn’t around to hear, and when he had curiously asked Bella about it, her face had become grim and sad, replying only with, “It’s Rose’s business, Jake. I really can’t tell you, sorry.” It was rather frustrating not knowing something that it was obvious everyone else knew; if he really wanted to know so badly he supposed he could ask Rosalie, but he was nowhere near that desperate, so he decided to leave it be for now.

Days passed. Life went on as normal. The Cullens observed that Rose seemed to be steadily returning back to her normal self. She never spoke of what happened, of why she fainted, which was so frustrating to Emmett sometimes that he felt like yanking his hair out. Both Jasper’s and Edward’s gifts were of no use; though Jasper could sense that Rosalie felt uneasy very much, and sometimes even felt dread. But other than those vague feelings and useless fragments of thought, they got nothing useful from her mind nor emotions. It was like she had purposely blocked the incident out and was now operating on autopilot. As if she had forgotten the whole thing.

And in fact, that was exactly what Rosalie had done. Or rather, what she had been trying to do. She could never manage it completely, but she managed to forget Royce King long enough for Edward not to be able to pick through her mind and find him. He hadn’t contacted her since that awful phone call, and the more time that passed with no further sign of him, the easier it was for Rose to believe it had never even happened. By the end of the week, she had almost managed to convince herself that she had imagined the entire thing.

Key word being _almost_.

But Royce’s reappearance was most definitely _not_ an imagining of her mind. He was merely taking his time, planning what his next move would be to get his Rose. And he was closer than she thought, and only growing more impatient.

* * *

 

“Jake, come _on_ ,” Renesmee urged with childish enthusiasm, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet impatiently. “I’m _hungry_.”

The person, or rather, animal, that she was speaking to, was a large redish-brown wolf the size of a fully-grown bear. Jake had shifted into his wolf form, which he always did when he agreed to go hunting with Nessie, which was what they were doing now since she hadn’t had blood in a while, and her throat had been starting to get a bit itchy, indicating that her stomach wanted something other than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

She may not have had to drink it as much as the rest of her family, but she still needed it occasionally to survive.

Jacob-wolf made a rumbling sound in his chest that might have been a chuckle. Renesmee stuck out her bottom lip in an annoyed pout. He was walking too slow. They would never catch anything at this pace!

A smile suddenly spread across her angelic face as she thought of an idea, something fun to do while she hunted. And it would most definitely get Jacob moving faster.

Jacob eyed her excited grin warily. She stood standing by his side, her left hand tangled in his soft fur. She gave it a light tug, not enough to hurt, but enough to snag his attention.

“I have a game,” Renesmee proclaimed brightly. Jacob cocked his head to the side and inclined his head slightly. She knew he was telling her to go on and explain; she had been around Jake long enough to understand his wolf mannerisms. He was her best friend, after all.

“Ok,” she said, still bouncing up and down, though this time it was from excitement. “Here’s the game; we both run as fast as we can around the woods, like a race. And whoever finds an animal to snack on first wins.” Jake didn’t snack on the animals, Nessie knew, but sometimes he would help her pick them out and take them down; she didn’t yet have the strength or speed required to do it herself.

Jacob still looked uncertain, not wanting them to stray away from each other. He was very protective of her, and Renesmee knew that, just like Mom and Daddy, he only wanted her safe, which meant that they had to stick together. But really, what sort of danger was there to get into? The only people (and werewolf) in the woods were her and Jake. And she may not be a full-blooded vampire, but she could handle any carnivous animal that tried to come her way. She really didn’t see the problem with her new-found game; they would only be apart for a few moments.

“Please, Jacob, _please_ ,” she begged, giving him the best puppy-dog eyes she could manage. And as always when faced with her begging, he averted his eyes with a bow of his head, giving in. Renesmee clapped her hands, feeling giddy and pleased with herself. ”Yay! Okay, so I’ll go left and you can go right, and we’ll meet up on the woods’ borders on the other side.”

The large wolf nodded in response, and Renesmee shot him a competitive grin before flashing off to start the race for her meal.

The trees flashed by in a blur, the wind blowing Renesmee’s bronze locks behind her. She dodged trees and jumped over tree roots, leaves and foliage of the forest occasionally brushing and whipping slightly at her face, but just barely, not enough to be painful. She knew she couldn’t run as fast as a vampire or werewolf, her supernatural blood diluted, so she tried to put on an extra burst of speed, determined to beat Jacob at their little game of cat and mouse.

Renesmee grinned to herself as she caught a hint of a scent that could only be a deer. She tried to sniff it out and run in that general direction, following her sense of smell (once again, not as enhanced as a full blooded vampire, but still enhanced enough). But then, the slight scent of the animal was overdriven, replaced by a different scent of something else, strong and close by. The aroma was both familiar, and yet, also completely foreign.

Vampire. And not one she knew. Very close by.

Renesmee came to a dead halt, her feet skidding on the ground, kicking up leaves and dirt. Her pulse raced, and it wasn’t from the adrenaline of running. Panic unfurled in her chest, and that’s when she realized. The woods had suddenly become eerily quiet. _Too_ quiet. Her heartbeat pounded in time with her breathing, and the hairs on the back of her neck tingled with an unexplainable feeling of being watched. Cautiously, she peered around at her surroundings. There was no one in sight, but the unfamiliar scent of the stranger vampire still invaded her nostrils. Someone was here with her; somewhere.

“H-Hello?!” she called out, her voice shaking nervously, echoing back to her in the dead silence. “Is someone th-there?!”

A twig crunched behind her. With a surprised gasp, she whirled around. A blurred shape sped through the trees, a vampire running at uber-speed. The person came to a sudden stop directly in front of her, completely invading her personal space, and Ness drew in a sharp breath, stumbling backwards, staring up at the man in front of her, chocolate eyes wide.

There was nothing at all familiar about him, and the sight of him made her insides prickle in fear. His skin was unnaturally pale, marble-like, like the rest of her family besides Jake. His hair was a dark brown, slightly wavy, and he was dressed in a casual pair of washed-blue jeans and translucent white t-shirt, an aviator’s jacket shrugged over his shoulders. He was currently wearing a perpetual smirk, his face made up of perfectly sculpted sharp lines and angles, depicting an undercurrent of cruelty. But it was his eyes that startled her the most: a deep, terrifying scarlet. There was something about his gaze that Renesmee didn’t like at all, something predatory and vindictive. It sent tremors of fear up her spine.

“Hello, there,” he greeted, his voice smooth like silk. His smile widened, showing off a perfect set of pearly white dentures. “Now, what would a little girl such as yourself be doing wandering around out here in the woods _all alone_?”

Renesmee gulped, unable to tear her gaze from his frightening eyes, backing up blindly, leaves crunching under her feet. “You’re-You’re a—“

“A vampire? Yes. I’m actually an old friend of your aunt’s, I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction to where I might find her. My name is Royce.” He flashed her that charming-but-creepy smile again. “Royce King.”

Renesmee frowned. _Royce._ That was who, according to Daddy, Aunt Rose had been thinking about when she had her major freak out a couple days ago (she was still confused to what that had all been about, but Auntie had seemed fine after, so she hadn’t asked). The name ‘Royce King’ seemed familiar, too, not in a good way, and not just from when her dad had mentioned it the days before. She was certain she had heard it once or twice before as well, but she couldn’t remember.

But she knew with absolute certainty that the vampire standing before her, who called himself Royce King, was bad news. She mostly knew this because of the blood-red eyes, meaning that this vampire fed off of humans and not animals. The only immortals with scarlet eyes that she could remember meeting were the Volturi and their Guard, when they had come and voted whether she should continue to live, when she was an infant. Their faces weren’t the kind that you so easily forgot.

Mom said that they were dangerous. That any of their kind were, and if she ever came across any vampires such as them, she should steer clear.

Nessie gulped. “I don-don’t think Aunt R-R-Rosalie is home n-now,” she lied. “And I’m not supposed to talk to st-stra-strangers.”

He took a large step forward, and she found herself frozen place as he strode closer. “Oh, come now, Nessie – may I call you Nessie? – there’s no need to be like that. You needn’t be hurt, but if you don’t cooperate with me then I’m going to be forced to make you.”

Renesmee’s eyes went wide, fear rose up in her throat. She glanced around, and opened her mouth to scream – _Jacob, help!_ – but in less than a second Royce had flashed behind her and brought a hand around to clamp over her mouth.

“Don’t even _think_ about it,” he hissed. “You make so much as a single move to call for help, I’ll have your neck snapped before you can even utter a sound.”

Renesmee wisely stayed silent. Whereas a vampire would have no issue with this threat, she was half-human, meaning she was far from indestructible. Break her neck, probability predicted that she would still die. And she wasn’t anywhere near willing to test those odds.

“I won’t . . . I won’t tell you where she is.” Renesmee’s voice shook with each word, and she wished she could have sounded more convincing, more courageous. “I won’t let you h-hurt her.”

Royce let out a drawn-out sigh. “Renesmee, Renesmee, Renesmee. I don’t want to hurt Rosalie. I _love_ her. And besides, I don’t need you to tell me where she is. I already know.”

“Then why . . . why did you ask _me_?”

He shrugged. “I was merely amusing myself. And plus, you are a vampire-human hybrid, and the concept of such a creature is intriguing to me. But it is of no matter; I only need one thing from you, and that is leverage. You will be acting as a sort of . . . _bargaining chip_ , shall I say.”

Renesmee drew in a sharp breath, struggling to break free. From behind her, Royce’s arms restrained her by wrapping around her shoulders, almost like an embrace. She stiffened, and he bent over and said to her, “Now, listen here, just so you know, this could have gone an entire different way.”

And then his arms jerked up sharply, completely cutting off her oxygen.

* * *

 

Rosalie slammed her hands down, angry, on the island in the center of the kitchen. She didn’t look at her husband stationed across from her as she spun away from him and declared fiercely, “We are _not_ talking about this.”

Emmett, who had been pestering her over her short fainting spell and freak out, the one which she had refused to talk about to anyone repeatedly, didn’t seem to hear the note of finality in her voice. Or maybe he just didn’t care, finally getting fed up with her evading and downright refusing to answer his questions. Either way, he wasn’t letting up this time.

“Yes, we damn well _are_.” He then sighed, allowing the angry tone to drop from his voice as he maneuvered around the island table to stand behind her, their bodies separated by mere millimeters. He placed his hands on her arms, rubbing them up and down, and despite her frustration and anger, Rose couldn’t help leaning into him, relishing in the safe and content feelings that came with the close contact.

He pulled her closer against him, and Rosalie rested her head against his chest, sighing as she breathed in his scent.

“Please, babe,” he pleaded, “tell me what’s been up with you. I only want to help.”

She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said softly.

Emmett sighed like he had expected this. He pulled her away from him for a moment so he could turn her body around so she was facing him. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Rose . . . I _love_ you.”

The words made the blonde’s insides clench with guilt. She knew without a doubt that Emmett loved her, but he didn’t say it out loud very often unless it was when they were making love and he was declaring how irresistibly sexy she was. He wasn’t a very sentimental person, preferring the saying ‘ _actions speak louder than words’_.

She reached up to place her hand on his cheek. “And I love you, too,” she told him, though there was really no need to say the words. He already knew them, as they had sworn to each other numerous times, forever, eternally, not even in death do they part.

Rosalie closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his. Emmett was a bit hesitant at first – he had wanted answers about what had been bothering her, not to participate in a full-scale make-out session in the kitchen. But of course, he wasn’t going to complain despite that, and responded to her in earnest.

Their lips melded together, familiar, passionate, and Rosalie felt that accustomed sensation of hunger surge through her entire body – and this type of hunger wasn’t the kind to be sated by drinking from a vein. This kind was hot, and crazy, and lustful, and could only be fed by touch, of the feeling of skin on skin, of the heavenly feeling of Emmett’s lips trailing all over her body. And she wanted this need sated, oh so very suddenly.

Entangling her fingers in his dark hair, she pressed herself closer to him, slipping her tongue in his mouth. Her right hand roamed the expanse of his chest. She nibbled sensuously on his bottom lip, and he let out a breathy laugh. His right arm had circled around her while his left hand cupped one of her breasts through her blouse.

Rosalie pulled back, suddenly not quite in the mood, which had to be a first for her.

Emmett took a step back, regarding her with bafflement. “Babe . . .?” he questioned.

She took a breath. She met his eyes.

“He’s back,” she breathed slightly. And she felt both relieved and horrified at the same time. On one hand, it was ridiculously relieving to have said it out loud and get the secret some-what off her chest, even if, judging by the look of confusion on his face, Emmett wasn’t exactly sure of who she was speaking of. But on the other hand, actually speaking and acknowledging it opened up doors that led to places she wasn’t ready to face. It confirmed everything. She couldn’t pretend anymore, couldn’t bury Royce’s phone call to the back of her mind and act like it never happened until she forgot it ever occurred.

No. This was real. This was happening.

Royce King III was back. And for some sick reason, he wanted her.

She looked at Emmett, suddenly needing to spill everything. Everything that happened and that she’d been spazzing out over and hiding during the past week. She opened her mouth to speak, ready to do just that –

Then from outside, someone screamed.

It came from the front lawn, and it wasn’t really a scream, really. More like a high-pitched cry. It was Bella.

Everything else seemingly forgotten, Rose and Emmett glanced worriedly at each other, flashing away at the same speed out the door toward their sister-in-law’s voice. Bella, Edward, Jasper, and Alice were all standing by the yard, along with a frantic-looking Jacob. Alice and Jasper looked beyond worried as he tugged her close to his side, Bella looked close to tears, and Edward looked about to rip Jacob’s head from his shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Rose spoke.

Edward wrapped his arm around his distraught wife. “ _Jacob_ ,” he said, glaring at the mutt in question with barely restrained rage, “seems to have _lost_ Renesmee.”

Jacob lowered his head in shame. Rosalie felt as if she’d been hit with a bunch of bricks. Emmett, seeing his wife’s gobsmacked expression, grabbed ahold of her hand.

“You _LOST_ HER?” she exploded, making Jacob flinch back. “How on earth could you _LOSE HER,_ wolf-boy?! She’s a three year old girl, and sure, she looks closer to ten, but she can’t be _that_ hard to keep an eye on!”

“I didn’t _mean_ to! We were playing a game, and when I tried to look for her I couldn’t find her anywhere. And also . . .” Jacob hesitated at this, looking unsure.

“Also _what_ , Fido?!” Rose snapped. Emmett placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

“Well, when I was trying to sniff her out by her scent, I smelled another vampire. Close by.” Jacob’s face was filled with worry, and at his words, everyone’s faces became grave.

“Another vampire?” repeated Alice in bemusement. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Someone who wasn’t one of us?”

Jacob confirmed this. “Yeah. I didn’t recognize the scent at all.

A knot of dread formed in Rosalie’s stomach at his words. _Another vampire in the area?_ She tried not to think of the phone call from Royce a few days back (she was currently trying to convince herself that it had never happened) but she couldn’t stop her thoughts from wandering in that direction. If Royce _really_ was a vampire, then this whole situation was all too much of a coincidence. Was . . . was it possible that _Royce_ took Renesmee? That _he_ was the unfamiliar vampire?

Emmett felt Rose tense beside him. “Rose? You alright?”

Before Rosalie could answer, Edward swiveled around, golden-eyes wide. “You think _ROYCE_ took Renesmee?!” he exclaimed. “As in ROYCE KING?!”

Rosalie blanched. _Shit._ She had forgotten to shield her thoughts from him, and Edward had read her mind. Now he knew. And he had just blurted it out in front of everyone.

Everyone whipped around to face the blonde. She felt herself shaking. Emmett had dropped his hand from her shoulder and was looking as shocked as the rest of them (besides Jacob, who looked like he didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on).

He stared at her, a new-found clarity and deep-rooted horror blooming within his eyes, and Rose knew that he was remembering those two simple words she had admitted to him: _he’s back._

“Royce?” he whispered, horrified. “Is _that_ what you’ve been hiding from us?”

“Em . . .” She was shaking. Everyone was staring at her, their judging little eyes burning into her. She felt frozen to the spot. She wanted to run, she wanted to flee, she wanted to—

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Oh God.

Oh _God._

Her blood ran cold. Everything froze and it seemed as if the world were going in super-slow motion as she turned to face the person who had spoken.

He was standing by the outskirts of the woods, about three yards away, and Rosalie could make out every familiar detail of him perfectly. It was him. Satan personified, the devil disguised, the ghost that had haunted her for over eighty years.

There was no denying it now.

Because standing in front of her looking completely at ease, wearing that familiar perpetual smirk, skin white as alabaster, was Royce King. Her nightmare come to life.

And dangling unconscious in his grasp, hand wrapped tightly around her small neck, was none other than Renesmee.

**Author's Note:**

> Review? Comment? Pretty please? Would you like me to continue?


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